


Afternoon theatrical

by twofrontteethstillcrooked



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Flirting, Floof, M/M, snippetfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-02
Updated: 2015-06-02
Packaged: 2018-04-02 12:56:31
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 529
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4060840
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/twofrontteethstillcrooked/pseuds/twofrontteethstillcrooked
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Grantaire and Enjolras inadventently provide Bossuet and Joly with some good dinner theatre.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Afternoon theatrical

**Author's Note:**

> 2 June 2015 snippetfic for Sit the Fuck Down and Write Month.
> 
> Directly inspired by [this drawing by Clenster](http://clenster.tumblr.com/post/101799944901/it-appears-i-have-fallen-down-a-quickish-e-r-for) which never fails to cheer me up.

Bossuet seldom cursed his luck, bad though it was. That terrible fates befell him on a regular basis seemed, perhaps from sheer repetition, as common as rain or niggling cough, but Bossuet thought it was only wise -- indeed, this was possibly his only claim to wisdom -- to remember other common occurrences brought better pleasures: good wine, the kindness of friends, a heated kiss.

Nor, to Bossuet's mind, could you in fairness discount the annoyances of existence for the sake of the beauties. It was the balance of both trials and triumphs throughout the longer span that made life worthy of Bossuet's efforts to enjoy it, even when his pockets were empty of sous or his lodgings modest.

For example: low hanging clouds outside and pipe smoke inside made the room at the Corinthe seem like a dragon's cave; alternately, mere centimeters away an amusing one-act was being performed and hadn't cost Bossuet a thing.

"Is he blushing?" Joly whispered merrily.

"Shhh," Bossuet said. "Don't stare. We're supposed to be reading this pamphlet."

"I was on the side of the canut before I read it and I remain devoted to their cause. I think Courfeyrac's reference to black flags is oddly placed. But more importantly, should we go help Grantaire?"

Joly's fast whisper was so charming Bossuet had to work to keep from smiling at him. "He looks comfortable enough."

Grantaire, seated on the floor across the room in a position Bossuet would define as cavalier, had tripped backwards when Enjolras whipped around on him unexpectedly. He'd caught himself with surprising cat-like grace. From the floor he was now annoying Enjolras -- who, standing with hands on hips, created an arresting profile -- with some screed about bronze anvils plunging from heaven, though Bossuet was having a hard time deciphering how Tartarus, god or place, was relevant to the situation.

Maybe Grantaire was the anvil? He was blushing, though; Joly was right about that and Bossuet was right to be gleeful about it. He'd bet Joly a franc that someday soon the two of them would see a bolt or jolt of realization cross Grantaire's face, and then they'd really have something to gossip about during breakfast with him.

Bossuet did hope at present Enjolras was as unaware of Grantaire's affections as Grantaire himself was. It made the situation seem somehow less awkward, or potentially risky, emotionally speaking, to know neither party actually knew what was going on.

How Bossuet felt about Joly, and vice versa, however, was far less furtive, except in public, where they tried to maintain a certain level of decorum, which Joly was now completely undermining with his foot under the table.

"Stop that," Bossuet hissed.

Joly grinned, ducked his head, and went back to pretending to care about editing the pamphlet. His ankle continued to rub up against Bossuet's. Bossuet was not quite regretting they'd taken off their wet boots and left them by the Corinthe's little stove to dry.

Across the room, Enjolras held out a hand and helped Grantaire stand up. Joly nudged Bossuet slightly with his elbow. It was a more interesting scene to witness, Bossuet mused, if you pretended it was a metaphor.


End file.
